


Words cutting flesh

by CelticSaemi



Category: Secret of Kells (2009)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticSaemi/pseuds/CelticSaemi
Summary: Words are tools, they can help and save people but they can also hurt and kill if misused. Careful what you say... Brendan and Cellach learn it at their expenses, now how do they repair what seems to be broken? ((Self-harm, but nothing graphic))





	Words cutting flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Surely the most angsty story I've written so far! And yes, I know that self-flogging would have been more accurate for the time period, but please, give it a chance and roll with it?

There was something heavy in the air lately in Kells, at least in the Abbey, all the monks could tell. Just like a heavy heat could announce a storm, but the lightening had already bolted through the skies and the thunder was still waiting to be heard.

Brother Sergei exchanged a concerned glance with his fellow brother, Friedrich, as they glimpsed Brendan rushingly extinguishing the candles on his side and leave the Church in the same way while the Abbot stayed far at the back, tidying up the altar after the mass.

The two had willingly kept looking away from the other all along.

Brother Leonardo eyed the Abbot, who was obviously deep into grim thoughts –given his expression- and went to gather the chalices to wash them.

Later, the three monks joined with more of their brothers, the same questions ringing in the air.

What happened?

\---------------------------------------------------------

Aidan had enough experience to see how tormented one could be through their drawings, although his apprentice was not really hiding his distress, but it did not make him far-sighted. All he knew had been pieces of information from other monks, the rest was only speculations.

“Brendan, are you sure you do not want to talk?” he asked gently.

The lad only lowered his head, his eyes staring on the stubbornly blank parchment in front of him, before he shook his head.

“It’s… I’m going to the forest.” he did not wait for his master’s response and headed towards the door.

“Alright, be careful!” Aidan still called after him and Pangur jumped on his lap. “But you are spending more time in the forest than you should.” he sighed sadly, caressing the fur of his faithful pet.

He had been the one encouraging the child to go to the forest, but those days, it seemed like Brendan was trying to flee by going there. Did he not trust his apprentice like he did, he would fear the boy would not come back.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here again?” Aisling loomed from the branches above him.

Brendan startled but smiled as he looked up.

“Yes, I really wanted to see you!”

His friend grinned, leaped to join him and took his hand to guide him through the wonders of her forest.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Abbot, it is really getting late.” Brother Tang indicated as he stepped in the Abbot’s cell. “You should rest now.”

“I must finish these.” Cellach replied coldly, cutting short at any discussion without raising his eyes from the blueprints. “Is it everything?” he asked when he sensed the older man was not leaving.

“Brendan did not eat much at dinner, tonight.”

Cellach’s hands stopped in their movements and he finally glanced at his Brother.

“Do you think he is ill?”

“No, but…”

While Tang searched for his words, the Abbot turned the compass he was holding in his hand, distractedly or to show his impatience, which was making him a bit nervous.

“He seems very upset, lately.” Tang finally said with a sad sigh.

“Of course he is.”

The Chinese monk was about to add “and so are you” when Cellach flinched with a low sound of pain. Concerned, he stepped closer as the other pulled his hand away from him, towards the candle light.

Blood was flowing from the Abbot’s thumb.

“Did you cut yourself?” Tang exclaimed and grabbed his friend’s hand to have a better look at it.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“ _You’re not my father!”_

_The sudden silence of his uncle was what snapped him out of his frustration and he realized, too late, what he has just said. It was not the words themselves, but everything behind them, what they could mean._

_Although he had felt like screaming with all his lungs not even a minute ago, now, Brendan felt his throat clenching, blocking his voice. He did not know what to say anymore, anyway._

_Uncle Cellach was now staring at him with wide eyes, his face whiter than he had ever seen; despite his stuck expression, the boy saw shock, fear, and incomprehension and then grief and betrayal pass on it._

_What has gotten him?!_

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brendan woke up.

His face was full of tears.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Stop thinking about it!” Cellach ordered himself as he lifted a stone.

And yet the words and all the accusations kept echoing in his head…

….soon followed by that horrible sound, repeatedly.

The Abbot put down the stone with much more force than necessary.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You went to the forest again?” Aidan asked as he took a leaf from his apprentice’s hood.

Brendan froze, so did he when he realized what he had done.

The old man could tell this reaction had caused the boy to dive deep into bad memories. He shouldn’t have asked.

“It’s alright, Brendan, it was not a reproach, just a question!” he assured him, gently caressing his head.

The time Brendan took to relax –if it could be called that- and to snap out of his grim thoughts seemed horribly long to Aidan.

“Sorry, it’s not your fault.” the lad whispered, glancing at him. “I should have been more careful.”

His eyes infinitely sad and resigned, he went back to drawing.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_There was something in the back of his neck and down his spine that kept itching him, and it was awfully annoying! Brendan bit his lip as he tried to ignore it, but it was too hard, he needed to scratch!_

_“What is it, Brendan?” uncle Cellach looked up from his work._

_“I don’t know, it makes me itch like mad!” he gave his uncle the reed pens he had finished trimming earlier and resumed scratching his neck._

_“Wait a moment.”_

_The Abbot pulled Brendan towards him, so his back was facing him. The young monk tensed slightly as he felt the adult’s hand going underneath the back of his collar a moment before pulling out something that rubbed the child’s skin. And the itching finally stopped._

_“There.” Cellach announced with some amusement in his voice. “It was just…”_

_Brendan turned his head, confused by his guardian’s sudden silence and he petrified at the sight of what he was holding._

_A small piece of branch with the bit of a leaf at its end._

_The leaf of an oak._

_There was no oak inside of Kells._

_A heavy silence fell in the room._

_The Abbot set his eyes –now hardened by outrage- on his nephew._

_“You went to the forest again?”_

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone double-checked their work, not wanting to face the Abbot’s displeasure. He had been in a foul mood for days the previous week; even though he seemed calmer now, nobody wanted to risk and see if it was pretending by making some errors of any kind.

He himself was pushing far into his work. Some people feared he was going to make himself ill or worse, others were asking among themselves how much time he would hold on this rhythm before collapsing.

The more observant ones wondered what he was punishing himself for.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“But you cannot make decisions for me forever! I have to take them on my own someday!”_

Cellach squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus back on getting work down.

In vain.

_“I might do mistakes, but it doesn’t matter! Everyone does! Please, I-”_

_“Brendan, I said enough!”_

_“But-“_

_“Do you think the Book, or whatever it is about, is worth your life? The forest is dangerous! Just because you were lucky enough once or twice does not make it safe! You could have got hurt, or worse: killed! Can’t you understand that?”_

_“Please, just listen-“_

_“You do enough mistakes as it is here, in Kells! You don’t need to do more outside, especially ones that could kill you!”_

_“That- you’re unfair!”_

_“What did you say?”_

_“You’re being unfair! You’re caging me inside here!”_

_“Brendan!”_

_“I always try my best to do what you tell me to! But you never asked me what I wanted!”_

_“Brendan!!”_

_“Everything’s always about the wall!”_

_“I forbid you to-”_

_“I’m never allowed anything!!”_

_“Stop responding me like this immediately!! I’m warning you!”_

_“You have no right to restrain me this way! **You’re not my father!”**_

Cellach’s heart was in his throat as he slammed his hands down his desk, his eyes burning.

Was that really what Brendan thought of him? How he perceived him?

A gaoler?

The Abbot wiped furiously at his eyes, trying to get himself together.

But it was no use.

Everything he did, it had ever been for Brendan and Kells’ sake; or so he thought. The wall was meant to protect them all!

But the more he thought about it… What would be the use of that wall if what it was supposed to keep safe was already shattered and beyond his grasp?

 _“I am doing this because I love you.”_  
_“I don’t want anything to harm you.”_  
_“Please, stay with me.”_  
_“I don’t want to lose you”_  
_“I love you.”_

Should have he said these instead of working so much? But there was no time! What now?

Brendan hated him. And how could he blame him? He had given him every reason to!

Maybe he had never seen him as a father figure.

Cellach looked down at his shaking hands, and clenched them into fists. He barely felt his nails digging into his palms or the tears falling on his knuckles, his breathing was irregular.

Why couldn’t he express himself? Why was he always doing something that made him look bad in everyone’s eyes?

His nephew’s words had hurt him, each one piercing through his heart, but the last sentence? It had been the final blow.

And what did he do in answer?

He slapped him. Hard.

He could not even remember raising his hand, but the sound that echoed and the stinging in his palm were carved in his memory. So was Brendan’s expression as he looked up, his hand cupping his reddened cheek. He had put enough force in it to make his nephew stumble backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet.

The Abbot stared now at his left hand, like he did at that time, only the shock was replaced by loathing.

That cursed hand.

How he hated it! How dared it move on its own accord!

The memory of Brendan staring at him with horrified, tearful eyes, came back to his mind.

His right hand took the small knife used for trimming.

How could you dare hit your own nephew like this? You, who knows better than anyone else the biting of the lash and the beating?!

The blade flickered.

Cellach flinched.

A thin drop of blood slowly ran down his wrist.

He blinked, then traced another line.

Then another.

And another.

Another.

…

What am I doing?

The horror did not struck him as it should have. On the contrary.

Cellach felt oddly serene now.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you staying a bit more today?” Aisling asked him, watching him setting his slate aside.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.” Brendan felt a bit sheepish.

Aisling grinned and snuggled next to him; when she saw Pangur Ban coming their way, she quickly settled her torso on his knees then stuck out her tongue at the scowl of the cat.

“My turn!” she blurted out at her before chirping: “I’m taking a small nap!”

Brendan chuckled and caressed the white hair of his friend.

She looked very pretty like this, so he carefully –not to disrupt her- took his slate back to start sketching her out.

But as his hand was drawing, sad thoughts invaded his mind. Soon, he stopped drawing to hold a hand to his right cheek.

It did not hurt anymore, but he could clearly remember the stinging hot pain, as if it was still there. The first and only time his uncle had ever hit him.

The slap had made no change of heart in the boy, who still wanted to pursue his training and who kept sneaking outside –not that the Abbot seemed to care anymore- but it was the evidence of how much he had hurt his guardian.

It had hurt his face but only for a while, whereas his own words… he could not imagine the pain they caused.

_“Get out of here…” Cellach’s whole body shook and his voice, who was yet above a whisper, shattered the silence. “Go…away, now!”_

_Tears of pain and regret leaked down his eyes. His feet could not move, they were like caught in a vise. He wanted to apologize, to tell he regretted what he’s just said, that he did not care that he was not his father, he loved him anyway! But his voice failed him while the Abbot got hold of his._

_“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!”_

Brendan bit his lip and looked around, trying to focus his attention on the beauty around him.

He did not notice Aisling was peering at him with one eye.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Today was especially hot, the sun was burning as people put their back into work; yet, the Abbot was wearing his long-sleeved attire. This caught the attention of people a moment, but they quickly turned aside when he passed near them.

Cellach knew he should have put some bandage on his wrist, but he did not have the time to do it (discreetly) and choose to go nonetheless. The marks were still vivid, for he had not tended to them, so he did his best not to raise his arms too much, so the sleeves kept covering them. He could just work on the plans and check on everything, at least, if everyone did their share, which was not the case!

With the heat, he felt dizzy and on edge at turn, not in a mood prone for patience and leniency. So when he walked near Brother Assoua and heard another disdainful whisper –if one could call that a whisper- about the wall, the Abbot decided he had enough of it.

He slammed a hand on the nearest table, startling the two monks.

“If you have something to tell me, I would pray you to do so” he hissed, looking balefully at Assoua who paled. “instead of whispering like some gossiping old woman, not even discreetly, in my back!”

The both of them started fumbling around, obviously trying to get back to work, while giving what Cellach felt was a half-hearted apologize.

“Actually, Brother Assoua.” the named monk froze. “We will do without your help.”

A voice inside him cried him to stop here and to take it back at the sight of the other’s expression, but he could not stop anymore. He was done with this attitude! Done with being mocked and despised for a task he was doing for them all, to protect them from the coming danger while they would only keep working on combustible and delicate books.

“You are right, you are not a worker or a stone-cutter, you are an artist, it is normal that your place is in the Scriptorium. So go and stay there. Do what your original work is.” Brother Assoua blinked, completely at loss of what he should do, so he pushed it. “Do what you do best, I am allowing you to do so. You can draw and bash me all you want there, I don’t go there much anymore, after all, I barely remember how to read and write a book!”

Assoua’s face became ashen as he recognized his own words. The man looked like he wanted to say something, but then he only muttered “yes, Abbot” and slowly went away, his head low.

“A-Abbot, please, let me…” Brother Fingen tried to reason him with a trembling voice.

“You can go with him. Go now.” Cellach cut him short.

They wanted to do whatever they wanted? Fine. He hoped they were ready to face the consequences!

That was what Cellach told himself at the moment.

However, two new lines were slit in his skin this evening.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Brendan felt like he was choking, and his heart pounded so hard in his chest it hurt. He wanted to run to the forest. Even in the Scriptorium now the atmosphere had become unbearable. It seemed like he was trapped in a cage, darker and more oppressing as each day passed. He needed air!

Slowly, he entered the Abbot’s workroom, the man whipped around, a hand tightening around one of his wrist. His expression, which had been alarmed became cold and he turned away, ignoring him.

“Unc- I was sent for the-“ the boy could not even form a proper sentence.

“They’re right here.” Uncle Cellach impatiently pushed some parchments at the end of his desk, not looking at him.

His voice had been as sharp as his gaze earlier.

Brendan bit his lips and hurried to take them. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt like he was going to be sick and let a sob escape his throat.

 _“I need to get out of here!”_ he thought urgently.

Brothers Square and Tang called after him as he ran near them, dropping the plans in the grass, but he did not stop in his race. The way through his secret passage seemed longer and darker than ever, but finally, he could glimpse the forest. A tear rolled down his cheek as a smile cracked on his face, then he dashed towards the trees.

_“Some air! Freedom! Finally!”_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Aidan stood frozen after hearing Brother Fingen finishing telling them all; the man rubbed the back of his friend as an attempt of comfort while he himself was obviously shaken. Everyone looked at each other, at loss, afraid and confused.

“Do you think he will banish me?” Assoua muttered suddenly.

“No! No, he did not!” Fingen exclaimed, glancing up at the others for support.

“Not yet, but how long before he does?” the African monk put a hand over his eyes, trembling. “I did not mean to… I don’t want to go!”

A heavy silence followed his desperate statement. No one knew what to say to reassure him, even less to comfort him, for they had no idea what was going in the Abbot’s head. A soft sob echoed, but it did not come from Brother Assoua, surprising the illuminators and calligraphers, who turned and stared at the origin of it. Brother Drystan wiped his eyes, embarrassed of being the center of their attention.

“Brother Rory would have known what to do.” he said tearfully. “He would have known how to talk to Abbot Cellach, and understood. If only he was still here…”

Half of the brothers exchanged a helpless glance, wondering who Brother Rory was, but they understood the meaning of the last sentence. Those who knew who Drystan was talking about lowered their head in sorrow. Aidan could only silently agree with him; Rory had been one of Cellach’ closest friends, the bound between them was one of the strongest Aidan had seen, surely, if the man was still alive today he would know what to do.

But maybe things would have been much different before all of this happened if he was.

“But- but it’s your own fault too!”

Now everyone stared again at their usually discreet and soft-spoken brother in shock. Drystan himself seemed surprised at what he had just said, but then, just like his tears, the words escaped frantically his mouth.

“Why did you have to be so disrespectful? It was inappropriate and you knew it was really not the moment to anger the Abbot! We all did! Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut!?” then he glared at all his fellow monks. “I always thought- I always thought most of you were too harsh and rude towards the Abbot! He works his back for Kells, and not only on the wall, but all you do is criticize, worse, mock him! Although I do not agree with him, really!” he insisted. “I too think he is too focused on the fortification of Kells and that he has lost sight of what matters the most without realizing it! But…” he struggled, swallowing his sobs and wiping his tears. “I- I think it’s time we really take a position instead of staying in some middle ground like cowards! We don’t want to work on the wall? Then, we should be honest and tell him straight, and face the consequences! Otherwise, we just keep quiet and do as he tells without complaining! Not trying to slip out in here to avoid a chore like children! We’re adults, goddamnit!”

Drystan lowered his head and put both his hands over his mouth, either horrified at his own words or to stop himself from saying more. Then he hiccupped and rushed outside, not looking behind him, leaving them all dumbfounded and feeling miserable.

Aidan rubbed his eyes an instant and looked in the direction of the door again. He could have sworn he had seen another silhouette behind Drystan all along. A familiar one.

“Rory?” he whispered.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door was violently slammed shut, the Abbot tried to lock it but his hands shook too much and his vision was so blurry it took him some time to do it. He then bumped his head against the cold wood, swallowing his tears as two voices screamed in his mind.

_“Everything’s always about the wall!”-“You’re not my father!”_

_“You could be a slave driver for the Northmen, you know?”_

Cellach had never felt so hurt or so insulted in his whole life!

The sorrow turned into rage which quickly boiled inside him. Before he knew it, he seized his stool and threw it across the room. Soon, most of his blueprints and writing tools were swept from his desk. Then, the Abbot grasped the jar he had left there in the morning and smashed it with all his strengths on the plan he had drawn on the floor. The remaining water washed off the white lines, and the chalk plan of Kells and its fortification got slowly erased by the flow.

Cellach watched the display blankly, his eyes dry. Or so he thought. He was not seeing mere chalk drawing being erased, but the village he loved vanishing under the unforgiving wave of Northmen’s invasion, or something else. He could not think clearly, and did not want to.

It was not enough. His eyes scanned the mess on the floor and noticed the gleaming of his knife. Slowly, he went to pick it up, raised his left arm and let his sleeve slip from it. His hold tightened and he slashed mercilessly his wrist, right in the middle of the other scars.

Cellach could not hold back a gasp as he was overrun by the pain. He watched the large amount of blood pouring over his skin and the blank parchments before he started trembling, the blade slipped from his grasp and hit the ground again.

He had cut deeper than usual this time, too deep! And now it was bleeding too much, and God, it hurt!

His legs trembling, he stumbled and frantically looked for the box in which he had hidden everything he needed to clean the cuts and make bandages. The Abbot let himself fall gracelessly on his bed once he found it.  
Tears were stinging his eyes as he disinfect his new wound, also washing the blood away. He would have to burn the soiled parchments too. Then, he finally took a real look at all the cuts on his wrist.

Cellach frowned slightly, and kept staring a while.

It looked like a kind of drawing.

A laugh echoed in the room, startling him. Then he realized it had been his own.

His shoulders started shaking and he burst out laughing. Soon, he clenched his painful stomach as his laughter would not calm down.

Oh, the irony! If only they knew! He had been drawing for all this time!

Once an illuminator, always one, right? He had found a new way to illuminate! Who needed books, parchments or ink or feathers of any kind? Your own skin, blood and a good knife, and it did the trick!

A new wave of laughter washed over him.

Drystan stood stunned at the other side of the door. Frozen as he listened to the sinister laugh coming from the Abbot’s room. Silently, he tried to open the door only to find it was locked. With a sad sigh, the Welsh monk stayed, even after the laughter ceased to be replaced by a concerning silence.

“Abbot?” he called.

No answer.

“I’m sure you can hear me.” Drystan said, loud but gentle. “I-What this man told you was awful and uncalled for, please, do not let it get to you.”

The monk waited patiently, but heard nothing. Apparently, the Abbot had no intention to answer him.

“Oh, God please help me.” He prayed. “Rory, what would you do if you were here?”

Drystan put a hand on the door and then his forehead.

“I wish I had your courage.” he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Brendan, do you want to live in my forest, with me?”

Brendan stopped and gaped at the forest spirit, dumbfounded. Was Aisling offering him what he thought? But why? While he was happy she trusted him and appreciated him enough to do so, it seemed out of place, and it was so sudden!

“N-no, I mean, I can’t. Wh-why do you ask?” he stuttered.

“Well, given the time you spent here lately, I was wondering.” She kept looking at the squirrels, but her tone was serious, demanding explanations. “Don’t you like your life in Kells anymore?”

“It’s not that… I don’t-it’s just complicated, and coming here brings me peace.”

He started toying nervously with his fingers when Aisling turned her gaze on him. He froze under it.

“So, you come here only to escape your problems?”

Brendan felt like he had been pushed into freezing water. Tears welled in his eyes and started streaming down his cheeks before he could hold them back.

He was the worst.

He had hurt his own uncle with what he said and now he was offending his friend by coming to her only because he could not face the consequences of it.

“I-I’m sorry!” he sobbed. “I did not mean to-but it was unbearable! I’m horrible! I’m despicable! You are right, Aisling!” he hid his face in his hands. “Coming here felt like I found a sanctuary but I was… oh, you must hate me!”

“Hey, hey! Calm down!” Aisling sounded distraught now. “Please, Brendan, stop crying!”

The young monk felt her hands hesitantly touching his head, then going to his hands to pull them off his face.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurt, Brendan, I really am.” she looked at him sorrowfully. “But, unless you really want to stay with me and live in the wild, you can’t hide here forever!” she pressed her lips together, holding a hand up in hesitation before she gently caressed his cheek, wiping his tears doing so. “Someday, you have to face whatever is eating you away, your problems will not vanish if you flee them, on the contrary! They’ll pursue you, harder and meaner than they were before!”

“I-I’ve told him such a horrible thing!” Brendan hiccupped and wiped at his eyes, sniffing. “And I don’t know what to do, now! I don’t know how to apologize to him!”

“Have you tried saying ‘I’m sorry’?” Brendan shook his head in answer. “Then, what are you waiting for?”

“Would it be enough?” he breathed.

“I don’t know, but it is the most honest thing you can tell, isn’t it?” she put a hand on his shoulder. “At least, try!”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Aidan waited anxiously at the bottom of the round tower, sometimes craning his neck, hoping he would maybe have a glimpse of his friend. But Cellach did not appear to his window. The Ionan was worried sick for him, and he was not the only one: the Abbot had not get out from his room since yesterday morning! A shudder shook his shoulders as he recalled what Brother Eudes told him.

While he thought that Cellach was being over-zealous (to say the least) on the work on the wall, that man –whoever he was- had gone way too far with his remark! Especially when Cellach was so unstable! And even if he hadn’t been, it was a really cruel thing to say, and if it had been a “joke” then it was one of very bad taste.

Brother Tang finally reappeared, paled and obviously tormented.

“It didn’t go well?” Aidan asked softly, afraid of hearing the answer.

“Not at all. Abbot Cellach is frazzled and overtired, even though he doesn’t admit it. Well, he did say he was tired, but not for the reason I know.” the Asian monk looked down. “He won’t get out of his room and would not let me tend to his arm…”

“His arm?” Aidan’s eyebrows went up. “Is he hurt?”

“He was wearing a bandage on his left arm when he let me in, when I asked about it, he either brushed it off as clumsiness or avoided the topic. The Abbot really did not want to talk about it.”

“And he refuses to get out?”

“He said he was stopping everything.” Tang announced grimly.

“What- excuse me?” Aidan was stunned, he couldn’t mean-

“The Abbot doesn’t want anything to do –or be done- about the wall or anything anymore.” a sad sigh escaped the old monk’s lips. “He seemed indifferent about everything, and he told me he was ‘tired of everything’ so we could just ‘do what he wanted’, suggesting he did not care anymore.” Tang shuddered. “I’m afraid Abbot Cellach is reaching the end of his rope, he’s about to lose his mind and I cannot help him. He refuses my help.”

Aidan brought a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes.

Cellach never did things in half, didn’t he?

\----------------------------------------------------------

Brendan almost lost courage as he reached the tower, especially when he saw Brother Aidan and Brother Tang talking together not far from the entrance. But the two old men were too focused in their conversation to notice him. The boy swiftly made his way inside and stopped after climbing half of the stairs, feeling sick in his stomach with stress. But he could not turn back now, he had delayed this for long enough!

“Don’t stop now!” he muttered to himself. “You can do it!”

He kept repeating that to himself as he climbed the rest of the stairs and reached his uncle’s room. The door was closed. After breathing deeply in three times, Brendan knocked.

There was no answer, but it was highly possible that it had just went unheard. Brendan slapped a hand on his forehead. If he barely skimmed the door instead of knocking properly, of course Uncle Cellach would not answer! Biting his lips, he raised his hand and knocked loudly this time, waited a bit and entered, not waiting for an answer.

Cellach had startled awake at the knock, he had not realized that he had succumbed to drowsiness. He sat up and rubbed his eyes quickly. Was it Brother Tang again? The old monk had seemed quite upset when he had refused to show him his wrist or tell him about it. Or maybe it was Brother Drystan? He sighed as he heard the door opening –thinking “I should have locked it”- and turned around.

“Tang, I assure you it’s…” he stopped when his eyes laid on his nephew.

The two stared at each other a moment in silence, taken aback by the other’s aspect.

Brendan first noticed how pale his uncle was, and that the dark circles under his eyes were darker than before. He seemed about to drop, Brendan was almost tempted to guide him to his bed. Then, he saw the beginning of a bandage on the Abbot’s wrist, going further underneath the red sleeve. Was it strained? When did he hurt himself?

Cellach wondered if the boy had not lost weight, he looked thinner than before. But he was so tired he was not sure he could trust his eyes. About eyes, his nephew’s seemed a bit red. Had he cried recently? Cellach felt his stomach tightening at the idea, feeling responsible; and he could not bear watching Brendan’s unsure and frightened expression, knowing that he was the one scaring him. He turned away.

But Brendan misinterpreted this move, believing his uncle was ignoring him again. It made his heart clench painfully.

“Uncle? I-I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

Cellach went rigid. He could not tell what he was feeling, he felt like his head was going to explode as his thoughts reeled. Why was Brendan apologizing to him? Did it mean he had forgiven him for slapping him? But how?

“I’m truly sorry!” Brendan kept on, trying to hold his tears back. “I did not mean what I said!”

His uncle did not move, his back was still facing him. The boy bit his bottom lip and walked to him. Then, slowly, he reached out for his arm.

“Please, Uncle, look at me!”

Cellach was so deep in his inner turmoil that he startled at the movement. His eyes widened as Brendan’s small hand gently touched his arm. His left arm.

As if the touch had burnt him, the Abbot snatched his arm away and got up.

 **“Don’t touch me!”** he cried out.

Oh no. No, no! Cellach wanted to scream and slap himself. He had wanted to say _“don’t touch my arm”!_ Why had it come out like that!? Why? He risked a glance above his shoulder and hated himself even more.

Brendan stood frozen, his heart had burst into pieces at the apparent rejection. Tears streamed down his cheeks, he choked on a sob as he tried to force another word out. But what? What word could repair this?

He was too late.

Before he knew it, he ran out. His feet slipped on the steps and Brendan gasped as he felt himself falling. But someone caught him. Brother Drystan looked at him, worried.

“Brendan? Are you-“ he stopped when he saw his junior’s shattered expression. “Oh Lord! What happened?”

Brendan sobbed and dashed away, ignoring the other monk’s calls. He did not even know why he was running away from him. All he knew was that he had spoiled everything.

And because he had been too much of a coward, he had let things get worse instead of going and face his problems!

The youngest monk of Kells found himself behind the Scriptorium, inside his secret passage. His eyes widened as he realized it.

“No.” he muttered, knowing he could not go back to the forest.

He had run, again. How could he face Aisling after this? And how could he draw the Chi Ro page when he was such a good at nothing? What would Aidan think of him now?

“I’m just good at fleeing!” he wailed.

Brendan fell to his knees and started crying his heart out.

Pangur Ban gazed sadly at him and quickly went to the Scriptorium, to look for her master.

\--------------------------

Cellach had weakly reached out as his nephew ran out of the room, but he had found himself unable to run or call after him. He had done it this time, hadn’t he? All he was good at was hurting people, and those he loved were the ones to suffer most from his deeds.

Had he still had hair on his head, the Abbot would have pulled it out. Brendan had come to him, to reconcile! And what did he do? He was really the worst!

“I hate you!” he whispered to himself.

The knife was seized in his right hand.

“Tyrant!”

He put his left hand on his desk.

“Monster!”

He raised the knife high above his head.

“Slave driver!”

The blade pierced the back of his hand and went through it all.

Cellach did not feel the pain at once, his self-hatred and madness clouding his senses, but when he saw the blood pooling on his desk, it hit him. He gritted his teeth not to cry out.

A horrified gasp made him whirled around.

Brother Drystan was staring at him, his face white as a sheet.


End file.
